Total pages in book: 184
Estimated words: 186756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 934(@200wpm)___ 747(@250wpm)___ 623(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 186756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 934(@200wpm)___ 747(@250wpm)___ 623(@300wpm)
“What?”
He studies my face, my features that I’m sure appear confused. Then, shaking his head, “God, you have no clue, do you? You’ve got no fucking clue. Okay, first: if we’re placing blame on each other, calling each other shitty then I think I deserve some credit too.”
“You don’t—”
“Twins are supposed to be so close, aren’t they? They’re supposed to be each other’s counterparts. So then why didn’t I figure it out myself? Why didn’t I get even an inkling that something was going on with you? That there was a reason why you were the way you were. Instead of being pissed at you and provoking you, throwing tantrums like a little bitch, stealing your girl, why didn’t I dig deeper? If we’re supposed to have this bond, the lack of which I always blamed you for, then what the fuck was I doing? Why the fuck did I spend years being pissed off at the wrong person?”
“But I never told you. You didn’t know. You—”
“And you don’t know either,” he says.
“I don’t know what?”
“That you’re not like that piece of shit who created us,” he lashes out.
I step back.
It’s not because of what he said. Because I remember, very vividly, that Conrad had said the same thing the day I confessed my secret. But I move back and feel sucker punched for the second time within twenty-four hours, because of how Shepard said it.
With such belief, such determination and faith.
“I see you haven’t put two and two together yet,” he says, scoffing, his eyes so much like mine dripping venom. But I think this venom might be for our father not for me. “You’re not like him. You’re nothing like him. He chose to hurt us. He chose to leave us. He chose to get drunk, to sleep around, to hit Mom, Jesus Christ…”
He grits his teeth as if the knowledge of it is physically hurtful and I get it because it is and once again I feel guilty that I had to tell him.
“He chose to neglect every single responsibility a decent parent, a decent human being has. He chose. Do you understand? He chose to do all those things. And what did you choose to do? You chose us. You chose to protect us. You chose to keep us safe. You gave up every single thing that you thought was a trigger. You sacrificed every single thing you thought could make you a threat. You chose to build a life around us, around our safety, around our protection. You chose to build a life for us. You chose to punish yourself for the things that he did to all of us but you never did. And the reason you did break your promise and lay a hand on me was again to protect the girl you love from yourself. So tell me,” he says, his voice still rough and lashing, “how, in what universe, are you similar to the man who always chose to put himself first while you always chose to put yourself last?”
“I…” My breaths are difficult, thick, getting jammed up in my throat. “You… I don’t… But I have t-this thing inside of me that’s like him and –”
“Ledger has this thing inside of him too,” he reminds me. “Are you saying our little brother is like him?”
“Fuck no,” I reply back, my tone abhorrent.
“Are you saying that he doesn’t deserve the family he has now,” he keeps at it. “He doesn’t deserve his wife, his two babies.”
“No. God, no. I never –”
“Because that’s what this is about, isn’t it?” he observes. “About what you do or don’t deserve. What she does or doesn’t deserve. She doesn’t deserve someone like our father and you’re right. But you’re not like our father, are you? You’re the opposite. You’re the absolute fucking opposite of him. What you wanted, what you promised to yourself when you were five, you did it. You’re not like him at all. You’re not an abuser, Stellan. You’re a protector. And you’re the only one who needs to understand that and fucking stop keeping yourself from the things that you want.”
A protector.
Holy fuck, I’m…
I’m not like him.
I’m not…
I’m the opposite of him.
I’m the fucking opposite.
I’m the…
Holy fucking fuck.
All this time… All this time it never occurred to me. It never…
“Didn’t figure that one out, did you,” he says, watching me.
I slowly shake my head. “No.”
He sighs, something akin to amusement flickering through his features. “For all your books and all your reading, you’re not that smart after all.”
I take a breath.
It comes easy.
Probably the easiest breath I’ve taken since I was five.
And say, “I guess not.”
He’s right.
I’m not smart at all. I’m pretty fucking dumb.
I’m pretty fucking slow.
But then again maybe I shouldn’t be surprised. It took me ages to finally understand that I’m in love. That I’ve loved a girl since the moment she flew into my life wearing a white dress and fake wings.